Pooter (W.E. 29)

Exercise 29:

Write about a pet you had that has died.  Tell about their life from the moment you got them, up until the moment your heart was broken because of their death.

      It’s been months since I last posted anything on this blog, but without having internet, and being homeless, as well as going to college, I find it hard to find the time to post.  I do hope you enjoy this one.

      Usually at this time of day I’m working on homework for college, but it’s starting out as a slow afternoon.  My cat was laying on my lap with her gray tiger stripes, and we were having quite a loving moment.  Well, she’s kind of got obsessive compulsive order.  She started to clean herself vigorously, and it reminded me of a dear friend I had up until about two years ago.

      This friends name was Pooter.  She was a dark brown and black long haired Chihuahua who always had a problem with her weight.  She almost had the name Cleopatra for these Cleopatra shaped eyes she adorned.  It was love at first sight.

      I remember the first day I got her. She came from a litter of 8 pups, she was the only female.  I think I was maybe 15 years old and still in high school.  She had that fresh puppy smell that always reminds me of a cup of coffee.  She was just a tiny little furball just a little larger than a tennis ball.  She took me to me right off.

      We had another dog at this time, and his name was Chino, short for his full name Cappucino.  Why?  He reminded my mom of Cappucino with the color of his short haired fur.  He came from a white Chihuahua champion, and had papers go with him.  I think my mom paid around 500- 600 bucks for him, but that doesn’t mean much to me.  Every time people saw him they thought of the old Tacobell commercials with that little bug-eyed Chihuahua “Yo quiero Tacobell.”  He was not a teacup, however, and nor was he bug-eyed.  He was a normal sized Chihuahua, though most people don’t know anything about their being a “normal size.”  Most people think of those tiny little teacup ankle biters when Chihuahua’s come to mind, but this isn’t the case for Pooter and Chino.

      So why am I bringing up another dog?  The reason for this is that Chino was maybe 6 months old at the time, and he needed a pal, so we got him Pooter.  Chino was my mom’s dog and Pooter was mine.  For whatever reason I always wanted a female dog, and Pooter was it. 

      When we first brought Pooter through the door Chino seemed over excited.  My mom told him “This is your baby, take care of her.”  He kept running over her at first and knocking her over, but soon he learned to be careful.  All he wanted was to play with this cute little girl.

      Well, they both began to grow up, and Chino’s love for her grew.  Pooter loved Chino too.  It’s hard to write this as tears well up in my eyes at such a sweet tale of two lovers.

      Chino had parvo as a puppy and had survived that through a visit to the vet where he had to stay for about 3 days.  About 3 or 4 years ago he died of Doggy mumps.

      Before Chino had died Pooter was a happy dog with bright shimmering eyes.  She always wanted to seize the day.  After long walks she’d run and jump into puddles to cool herself off, which required a bath after the walk because she had made herself so dirty!  She once even ran into our front yard and jumped into the pond.  Pooter and Chino also loved to go swimming down at the lake that we lived near at the time.

      After Chino died, she lost her desire to go outside and go for walks.  It seemed like too much work for her.  Though at this time we had other dogs, she was never the same.  Her heart was broken, and I could see it in her eyes, and my own heart broke for her.  No light was shimmering in those eyes, only a sadness asking me where he had gone and when he was coming back.  I tried so hard to take care of him before he died because I knew that if he died, her heart would slow its constant beat.

      It seemed to me her heart beat only for him.  They were the two Alphas of our slowly growing pack of dogs, that now ceases to exist, but that’s another story.

      Pooter was the type of dog who was always cleaning all of the other dogs.  She was quite obsessive with it, making sure even the floor was clean of food and scraps.  This was probably why she had a weight problem.  This girl loved to eat!  I can’t say I blame her, because I’m the same, only my metabolism prevents me from growing to a larger size.

      She was about a year old when she and Chino had their first litter.  From this litter came my brothers dog…Little Bitty.  I can’t remember what we originally wanted to call her, but my bro had abandoned her, and she was not the forgiving type.  She was mostly black with brown eyes similar to Pooter’s lovely dark amber gems.  Her chest was covered in a tanish colored fur, and her paws also had a tanish color.

      Chino and Pooter always protected Little Bitty, though Pooter was sort of the coward of the bunch.  She’d only run with the pack, and not solo.  Though one time she became a criminal through the act of biting a very evil man upon his leg, after that she was sentenced to solitary confinement for 10 days because the man called animal control.  I think he was afraid he was going to get Rabies, but Pooter knew he was no good.  It was the first and only time she ever bit someone.

      Pooter had the tendency to let you know what she needed by jumping up and down and barking in a high pitched bark.  It was quite aggravating, and I never truly could understand her like I could the other dogs.  My mom understood her though.  I’m sad that the two of us could never understand each other on that level, but I know we had a deeper understanding.

      Without that shimmer in her eyes, I found that she was mostly crawling underneath the couch and just lying there for hours.  She no longer found excitement in going for walks, and I could tell that she was depressed.  I couldn’t blame her; she’d lost her one and only true love.  I would have felt the same.  All I did was love her until she became very ill.

      This is where the story must take its end.   Her kidneys began to fail and she began to pee a bloody stream upon the carpet, and at the time we couldn’t afford to take her to the vet and she initially died.  I know it was painful for her, both physically and emotionally.  This was maybe two years after the death of her mate.  I feel that the reason this happened was because she couldn’t get herself to that point of joy anymore because her one reason for living was gone.  I feel that she wanted to join him because life just wasn’t worth living without him. 

      I know deep inside that they are both in a better place now, together.  The two of them are running happily in doggy heaven, side by side.  But I still cry for them both every now and then, missing them with many breaths, and many broken heart beats.  Rest in peace Pooter and Chino: Lovers for life.

Hairless Peach (W.E. 26)

Exercise 26:

Choose something from your fridge to write about, use all of your 5 senses to describe it: Sight, Taste, Smell, Sound, Touch.

Hairless Peach

I bring my carefully chosen object to my nose and I take a big wiff, and it smells sweet, ripe.  It makes my mouth water.  Its surface feels cold and smooth to the touch, yet with bumps protruding its very surface.  The butt end of it feels rougher like a super soft grade of sandpaper and dips in like an innie belly button.  The rough bumps across the skin make me want to claw at them and remove them from the-could be perfect surface.  The bumps feel as if they are ruining the perfection that is this hairless peach, yet those bumps are the perfection making my mouth desire to eat this beast.  Were it so unblemished I might find myself unable to eat it, as if it were to amazing to devour.  It feels hard to the touch, and yet squeezing just slightly threatens to bruise its delicate surface.  It’s maybe a quarter of an inch smaller around its entirety than a tennis ball, yet much heavier and more lopsided.  One side of it is a dark rouge color, and the other, a yellow blotched with red speckles.  It reminds me of the poisoned apple in snow white.  The top part of it dips in like buttocks descending into a hiding anus between the tufts of buttock fluff.  Scattered about the edges of the rouge colored surface are speckles that appear white, or perhaps beige.  I shake it in my hand and it sounds like nothing, for it appears solid; when I tap on its surface I find it is in fact solid.  Throwing it from hand to hand makes a smacking sound as if someone were playing catch with a baseball all by themselves without a mitt.  I lick the surface and taste nothing.  I can bare it no more, as the smell entices me to take a bite.  Juices instantly touch my lips and my tongue, making me not sorry I took this bite.  It tastes sweet and slightly tangy.  The skin comes off within my mouth and crunches slightly as I bite it and swallow it.  The inside is slippery to my tongue, and yellowed.  The inside surface proves to be more bumpy, but at the same time is soft and tickles my tongue with desire to have another bite.  Parts of the inside are a darker shade of yellow, signs of bruising.  As I take another bite parts of it string out and get captured in my teeth and on my tongue.  The taste is slightly sour at times, and yet sweet enough to tingle my taste buds.  The pungent aroma that surrounds me is hypnotizing, and I find myself eating more of it.  Within the center is a hardened core, and the closer I come to biting it, the more sour and bitter the taste.  The stringy yellow sweetness doesn’t pull free from the core, a sign that it’s not quite as ripe as it could be.  Alas, it has been devoured, and the core disposed of.  My object of utmost desire is a hairless peach. 

My Life's Journey of Oranges (W.E. 20)

Exercise 20:
Write a personal narrative.  If you've ever read a poem or a short story that made you feel a strong emotion, this will be easy to write.  Use the story that gave you a significant reaction.  This reaction can either be a strong loathing or a strong love/liking.  Describe why it gave you that reaction.  Make sure to organize your ideas.  You may use a personal story, a recognition of character, a connection to an event or (fill in the blank).

My Life’s Journey of Oranges

I remember having a very strong feeling for the poem “Oranges” by Gary Soto. What did I feel? I felt a strong sense of importance: oranges. It made me think of oranges with the idea that they are experiences. When I read it, I thought it was the most amazing poem I had ever read. It's been a habit of mine for the longest time to write down the things I want to remember. This poem “Oranges” will always be in my little time capsule, as I will refer to it. I liked it so much that I took the book out to the living room with me, and I read it to my mother. I don't really know why but I wanted her to feel something as I read it to her. I read it with as much emotion as I had experienced it. I asked my mother what she thought of it, and it didn’t seem to give her the same reaction. I guess I was hoping to share something with her that I truly enjoyed, and hoping she’d enjoy it just as much as I did. I recall telling her how deep I thought it was, how sweet. I thought “That’s the innocence of a first love.” For me, oranges can represent many different things. My life has a few oranges of its own. As I read the poem, I was full of some deeper emotion I find difficult to define. I can only define it by telling of some of my own experiences. 

 

It reminded me of my childhood. It reminded me of the first time I was able to finally climb a tree. I'd tried so desperately to pull myself up into the branches day after day. Then one day I was finally able to pull myself up. I felt a strong sense of accomplishment. I climbed as high as I could, entirely fearless. I remember the first feeling of looking down and realizing how high I'd climbed. It was absolutely amazing. I'd finally done it. I'd climbed the tree in its entirety. In this scenario, my orange is the accomplishment of having climbed the tree for the very first time.

It reminded me of my first boyfriend. His name was Christopher. I was in 5th grade at the time, and he was in 4th. He had these dorky glasses and this scraggly blond hair he was constantly fidgeting with. The first time we held hands was completely innocent. He and I were talking about secret areas in the game Super Mario. We held hands as we swung on the swings next to one another. Our fingers weren't interlocked, but our hands were clasped together. It wasn't a tight grip, nor was it gentle. It was simply perfection. I remember how light I felt inside, and how happiness was so easy to come by. It was the power I had within me as a kid; happiness, so simple to grasp, so easy to define. Happiness was my orange. 

 
It reminded me of the first time I heard a metal song. It was Powerman 5000. I felt scared. In my childhood metal music was always seen as evil, satanic. I was scared because I knew it was something I shouldn't be doing. That scariness made me enjoy it because I rarely deviated from the guidelines of my family. It made me feel like I was doing something dangerous. I felt like I was being bad intentionally for the first time. Danger made me feel strong. It made me feel fearless. When I was listening to Powerman 5000 my brother told my mom I was becoming a Satanist. I don't know if that's what he truly believed or if he had some other hidden agenda. He’d convinced her it was Satan’s music. I was banned from listening to them, even though it’s not satanic music at all. I felt another strong emotion then, the emotion of frustration at my brother's lies. He didn't want me to have the experience. Perhaps he was more afraid than I was. Fear became strength, and that strength was my orange.

 
It reminded me of the first time I enjoyed reading. I use to absolutely hate reading. Reading was difficult for me as a child. I didn’t like any of the stories they were having us read. I thought all reading was boring and couldn’t be more than that. The only books I’d enjoyed before had pictures in them, books like “Where the Wild Things Are” and “Baby Beluga.” 

 

I was in the library at my elementary school, Frank Zeek. I was looking desperately for something interesting to read. I don’t know why I’d gotten the idea that reading could be fun, maybe I was simply curious. There on a cart full of books waiting to be returned to their shelves was a book with a dragon on the cover. The cover read “Dealing with Dragons.” I know you’re not supposed to judge books by their covers, but the cover intrigued me enough to pick it up and read the back. As I read the back of it I found myself captured by the story. I decided to check it out. Eventually I read the rest of the series. I was so into the story that I couldn’t put the books down. I remember a warm feeling inside of my stomach like I’d finally found a place I belonged to, a place within the world of books. It was one of the greatest feelings I’d ever felt.

I rekindled the feeling a few months ago when I started reading again. It made me wonder why I’d even stopped reading at all. I suddenly got this strong urge to pick up a book and read. The stories are so captivating. This is why I was so easily captured in my youth by the Enchanted Forest Chronicles by Patricia C. Wrede. I prefer those with fiction tales, mostly with adventure, because I feel my own adventures aren't always exciting enough to share. Reading is still something I can now enjoy through that simple experience. Reading is now one of my permanent oranges.

 
One poem can bring up so many memories for me. Oranges are strong feelings contained deep within those memories. They are accomplishments, happiness, strength, and a place to call home, but they are not limited to those alone. Oranges are everything worth experiencing. They are every tangy little drop of life's magic. I could think of more emotions tied to tales of my life. If I weren't limited to examples of only a short few, I'd probably continue to write for hours. I could probably share endless amounts of oranges. Oranges are everything and anything to me. If life allows me, I hope to experience more oranges that can never fade away, for they are worth savoring every juicy detail.

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Authors Notes:

This is an essay written for my English 201 class for May 16th 2012.  The stories mentioned are true stories as I remember them.   What are YOUR oranges?

Riding Raptors (W.E. 15)

Exercise 15:
This is one I came up with myself.  For this exercise, I decided to tell you a funny story that happened on Sunday April 15th 2012.  You may choose to tell a funny story or simply one that made you feel happy.  Nobodies going to know if it's not a recent story.  It would be easier to write since it's fresher in your mind.  (This post is actually being written on April 15th, but is scheduled to post at a later date.)

Riding Raptors

Earlier I had an interesting conversation with my friend Jim, but before I get into that I must clarify a few things.  

I had been watching a movie called The Land that Time Forgot.  I was sitting on my bed with my pillows laying down behind me.  At the foot of my bed sat my laptop.  I'd been researching for my debate on the cons of being a Vegan when a question came to me.

I asked him "What if, in December, Earth shifts and we all go back in time because of the Bermuda triangle?"  Of course it's not a logical question, nothing amusing comes from logic!

He responds, as he usually does: "That would be cool."  

This could only make me bring up the point of "What if dinosaurs?"  It's my cute way of asking "What if there are dinosaurs?" 

Jim, being crazy like he is and loving raptors as much as he does, says "We can ride raptors." 

Of course, being the MOSTLY logical half of this conversation I say: "Or get eaten by them. Or, do you know how to train them?  Maybe you can get them as babies. Then maybe they will think you are part of the pack."  My point being: most animals learn to accept you as a family member if they are babies when you obtain them.

Then he says "Animals are animals.  Just give them food."  This of course made me laugh.

So I asked him "What do raptors eat?"  I knew of course that they eat meat.

He responds with "Meat," to which I respond with "Do you think it matters what kind maybe? Maybe they like people meat best." 

Then the most amusing thing that could have been said, was said by Jim: "Nah, people meat tastes like cow and cows have more meat." I fell backward on my pillows and started cracking up uncontrollably.  Every time I thought I was finished laughing, I'd start up again.  My thought was "What the hell?"

If you don't find this amusing, you have no soul.

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Authors notes:

As I said before, this story is true.  It's my way of trying to paint a picture for you of how I'd laughed for the first time in a while.  Not just any laugh, a genuine laugh.  I hope you choose an event in your life and try to recap it in story format.  ;)  This was a fun exercise.  Let me know what you thought of my story telling technique! Comments are appreciated!

Opposites Attracted (W.E. 08)

For those of you who don't know, this is a blog about writing exercises. These exercises I've found around the web and may possibly come up with on the spot. This is just for fun and to get me into the habit of writing frequently. I hope you will join me on this journey of writing. I will be posting every Tuesday and Friday as long as I have steam to do so. 

Exercise 08:

Write a character sketch, starting with someone you have once noticed and observed.
     1. Begin with a physical description. Try to include more senses than just the visual--how the person sounds, smells, the texture of their hair and skin, etc.
     2. Next, write a little about what you can't observe about the person from the outside. This can be facts--job, where the person lives, favorite movie, type of music, etc.
     3. Finally, drilling deeper, write some secret or dream of the person--something that perhaps no one knows.

Opposites Attract

Physical Description:

Her hair is dyed blond, almost white and you can see the undercoat of dark brown peeking through the bright openings. Her eyes are brown like almonds, yet so bright and shiney. Her smile is warming like a tender yet comical story. Her make-up is very subtle, just to accentuate her features. Her skin isn’t quite white, but slightly peachy. It feels soft like touching baby’s skin. She’s about 5’2” tall. She’s not wide, nor slender. I would consider her of average healthy appearance. Her arms and chest are covered with tiny little moles that you could only see if you were right next to her. She smells like a warm, windy and calming day. She normally wears a red belt around her midsection made of faux leather. It’s some kind of fashion sense, and underneath the belt is a dark black shirt with sleeves tyed with knots near the beginnings of her shoulders from the end of her arms. Upon her shirt is some kind of streaks of gold, splattered like far away spray paint. Her pants are usually simple jeans. I never noticed her shoes in great detail. On her left hand is a promise ring, and on her other hand many other scattered rings of less significance.

Her Home:

Her porch is probably old and rotting away. Upon the back portion of the porch is a ton of mostly smoked roaches. The outside of the house seems to be deteriorating as well, but could be in worse shape. Inside the house smells rank like it hasn’t been aired out since people have been living in it. The air is stale and smells almost molding. The rooms, even during the day seem so dark and lacking in color. It’s not a very welcoming abode. It feels as if you’re walking into a dungeon. Within the fridge is expired food, something her grandfather seems to collect. Her room is organized yet slightly messy with a few clothes lying around in particular spots. It’s still too clean to be considered a mess. It seems very organized. Upon her dresser, a lighter and some weed.

Is it true love?

I’m not going to claim this is true, because it’s probably not but I’d like to point this out. She’s written some poetry before that shines her in a sad light. Though she claims it was written not with the intent of sadness, but out of randomness. I don’t buy it. I recognized the feeling she wrote into that poem to be something that only someone feeling that great sadness could describe.

Though she talks of her boyfriend frequently as of late, and has the promise upon her finger, a part of me believes that she’s looking for something more. Though she seems happy on the outside, nobody is truly that happy are they? Perhaps they are, and I just can’t comprehend this idea.

Of course she loves him. Though when he’s around and she’s trying to hint to him about things, he doesn’t seem to get her. It’s as if they are from two different worlds. With older couples you see more understanding of each others personalities. That to me is love.

She and her promise guy have been together for 3 years, and known each other their whole lives. They practically lived next door to each other. But I think deep down, if she had the choice to love with all of her heart, and that someone loved her just as much back, that she would in no way hesitate to leave him. Another part of me wonders that if she truly loves him, what if he doesn’t truly love her?

 Though their relationship may seem like roses, maybe they argue behind closed doors. If she met someone who just got her on that deeper level, maybe then she’d see that what she’s feeling now, isn’t true love. Everybody deserves true love. For all I know she already has it, but from what I can see is, they aren’t even on the same page of this book. Opposites attract.

Cheddar Cheese/Molding Cheddar (W.E. 05)

For those of you who don't know, this is a blog about writing exercises. These exercises I've found around the web and may possibly come up with on the spot. This is just for fun and to get me into the habit of writing frequently. I hope you will join me on this journey of writing. I will be posting every Tuesday and Friday as long as I have steam to do so.

Exercise 05
Describe a food, using all your senses. Observe it visually, of course, but also include texture, smell and taste. Describe it again, but in a way that makes it disgusting: how a big juice steak, for example, must appear to a vegetarian.

Cheddar Cheese

                Orange tang colored surface of a rectangular shape. It shined in the light coming from the refrigerator door.  It was cold yet smooth to the touch. Running my warm fingers over more roughly appeared to bruise and taint it. I bruised it without changing the color. There was however, a change in texture that made it feel as if it would crumble like dough with too much flour. It was slightly dry, and yet not dry. Nor did it feel overly moist. Half covered in plastic that kept it safely encased to hold in freshness. The smell was an unpleasant pungent aroma that reminded me of dirty socks. The taste however was much more appealing. It wasn’t sweet, bitter, or spicey. The taste was savory, rich and succulent. My mouth moistened at the delightful taste, slightly sharp. The quality was earthy. 

 Molding Cheddar

                It was an orange-green molding cheese. The mold underneath the wrapper made the concept unappealing to even touch the encasing surrounding it. It was a fear that it would contaminate a hand like the blob. Some mold is good, but as this cheese has turned green it has become apparent it is beyond help. If one were to touch the mold they would find it fuzzy to the touch. The exposed end of the cheese was dry and hardened. It was darker and discolored, yet felt smooth like the surface of glass. The smell was an overpowering smell that reminded me of a rotting corpse of a cat I once found in my backyard. I almost vomited right then. I had to turn away and hold my breath as I threw it in the trash. Nobody should ever taste cheese covered in penicillin, especially if allergic.

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Authors Note:

You might be curious as to why I made this fiction and nonfiction. Parts if it are truth, and obviously the dead cat corpse part is fictional, but I felt it was a good way to describe the stench of molding cheese. Anyone whose smelled road kill knows that it's a completely awful smelling rotting flesh. Why did I pick this topic out of all of the things I could have written about? I've eaten a lot of cheese, and found a lot of moldy cheese in my disaster of a fridge. It's a shared fridge. I hardly use it myself. Though occasionally I open it up and take a look. Why describe a food? Because it's a very difficult task at times. I struggled with this one. How does one describe the stench of cheese? All cheeses have a foul stench, whether fresh or severely greening. Anyways, I hope this was an interesting read and that you guys give this exercise a shot, you may be surprised at how difficult it is to describe a food you eat so often.

By the way if anyone knows of any other really cool ideas for writing exercises tweet them to me @lylathewicked